


Three years.

by ahausonfire (thisiswherethefishlives)



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Break Up, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Miscommunication, These Boys Are Dumb... jfc, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-24
Updated: 2017-02-24
Packaged: 2018-09-26 15:03:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9907967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisiswherethefishlives/pseuds/ahausonfire
Summary: Three years.As Derek packs his bags (hands shaking as each breath creaks out of his lungs) he can’t help but be struck by how insignificant a period three years can be. It all feels…small.





	

**Author's Note:**

> **Inspired by the following Tumblr prompt:**
> 
> Anonymous asked: sooooo i saw this post-break up prompt list and this one sounded like it had an awful amount of fluff potential: "i found the ring when i was moving my stuff out of your apartment and now everything makes sense"

Three years.

As Derek packs his bags (hands shaking as each breath creaks out of his lungs) he can’t help but be struck by how insignificant a period three years can be. It all feels… _small_.

There’s the first kiss. The second kiss. Thousands of kisses, and hundreds fights; two leased apartments and a three-legged cat. There’s the moment before everything changed when Derek realized that Will was the person he wanted to build a life around, and there’s the realization that Will felt the same.

It all flows together into a single, solid feeling in the pit of his stomach.

All of it.

The length and breadth of their relationship, from the first night they discovered each other’s bodies to the night when it all came crashing down.

Last night.

And now he’s here, too hurt to cry, packing his bags like it’s the only thing he _can_ do. And he _knows_ that’s not true. At the core of him, Derek knows that he could fight. He could yell it out, and he could beg, and if he meant it _just enough_ … he could probably convince Will to give him another chance. But - _and there’s always a but_ \- Derek also knows that this is his fault.

He’s the one that pushed. He’s the one that lost his chill, and he’s the one that broke them apart.

He’s just- he’d been so wrapped up in getting everything ready. There was finding the perfect ring… and then finding the most apt words to engrave… and the most beautiful place to propose… he’d been so wrapped up in all of it - the romance of it all, and the drama, and the bated-breath excitement of his parents and _Will’s_ parents (fuck, what is he going to tell their parents) and maybe he hadn’t been prepared for Will’s fucking contrary, negative reaction over the _concept_ of getting married… maybe he just wasn’t ready…

His hands are shaking again, and he has to- he has to take a moment to breathe. He has to take a moment to take stock of what he’s doing.

There are shirts in his bag (the too-expensive tees that Will always chirped him for - sheer and ratty straight from the store - an extravagance in a rainbow of colors);

He’s got his pants packed as well (jeans and khakis and the tight leather pants that Will’s had to peel him out of more than once - Will had scoffed the first time he saw Derek in them, had chirped Derek straight into bed, where he had taken his time rolling the material down Derek’s legs - it had felt like a religious experience, just to feel Will laugh into the meat of his thighs - to know that joy);

Derek’s got underwear and socks and sweaters packed, and it’s heavy. Heavier than fabric. Heavier than anything that he’s ever known. He’s got three years of memories packed up in a duffle, and the tears still won’t come.

He kind of wants to die.

Because there’s only so much he can pack up in a single bag. There will be more bags to pack. And boxes. There’s going to be a lease to work out, and cat custody, and maybe Derek will never finish packing up and parsing their lives into two separate piles… He kind of doubts that he’ll ever be able to pack up the love that he feels for Will. It’s too much of who he is. It colors every aspect of his life, and there aren’t enough duffles or boxes to pack that away.

Hands shaking (they won’t stop shaking), Derek pulls the zip closed and goes to sling it over his shoulder. He’s halfway through the fucking action of slinging the bag when the bedroom door slams open and - though he will never, ever admit it - Derek screams. It’s tiny and shrill and if they weren’t over, Will would chirp him into oblivion over it…

But… they _are_ over. And instead of a smile curling along Will’s lips… there’s just this thin, pressed line that looks more like a stress fracture than anything else. It- well, it doesn’t bode well.

Will’s always had a small mouth. Delicate and capable of beautiful things: kisses and love, and love, and love. Now though, when it’s tense like this, it’s easy to remember just how sharp that mouth can be. It’s torn grown men to shreds, buried them in disdain, and rendered them useless.

Derek’s never been in such danger.

“You’re a real fucking piece of work, Derek, and I honestly don’t know how we’re going to make married life work if you fucking break up with me over every _fucking_ misunderstanding,” Will starts, and it’s clear that he’s just starting to ramp up from the way that he’s chewing each word and spitting it out. “Seriously. You were just going to- what, you were just going to throw this away instead of using your words?

“I mean, you’re the fucking English major. You want to _marry_ me? Just fucking ask me, asshole! Don’t ask me passive, roundabout questions, not when you’re just going to punish the both of us because I didn’t know what you were _really_ asking.”

Will’s in front of him now, a bony finger pressing into Derek’s chest like an accusation, and Derek just needs to catch up. He needs a moment, because-

“Wait. What do you mean, _if I want to marry you_?”

It doesn’t feel like a stupid question, but Will’s looking at him like he’s _dumb_. Derek hates that look. He’s hated it since their Freshman year, and he’ll probably hate it ‘til his dying day… but the desperate, broken part of Derek’s heart reminds him that at least Will is _looking_.

“Did you really think that I wasn’t going to talk to my mom after you broke up with me? That she wouldn’t tell me about how you had fucking _asked for my hand in marriage_ , like, did you also ask for a dowry while you were at it, you antiquated, romantic _dick_??

“Also, just for future reference, maybe you shouldn’t hide important things like engagement rings and your goddamn social security card in the crisper. Just because I don’t cook doesn’t mean you can assume the fridge is safe from me.”

There’s a manic gleam to Will’s eyes, and Derek… he doesn’t know how to take this.

“I- she told you? I don’t know why she would have told you,” Derek’s tongue feels thick, and it’s difficult to get the words out, but Will’s just staring at him like he’s holding all the answers and Derek just has to ask. “I just… _why_ would she tell you?”

“She told me because I’m in love with you, and apparently you’re in love with me - so much so that you wanted to _marry_ me,” Will takes a moment to breathe, a hitching, tremulous breath, and for the first time Derek thinks that he’s not the only one that’s been broken by this. “And maybe she wanted me to fix this. You’re kind of it for me, and if you had asked I would have said yes.

“You’ve gotta know that, babe. I’ll always give you a hard time, because that’s who we are, but I will _always_ say yes.”

Will’s eyes are earnest, and his lips have lost that fractured look, and it’s too much.

Derek sobs.

Hours of numbness, of pain and regret and unshed tears, it all hits him in a rush, and the tears won’t stop. They won’t fucking stop, but then he’s got Will’s arms wrapped around him and Will’s warmth seeps to him, and for the first time since Derek shouted down the foundation of their relationship… for the first time, he can feel. And it hurts.

Will holds him through it, rocks them back-and-forth, presses words into Derek’s skin. Mumbled, stumbling promises of _forever_ and _yes, you asshole_ and _you can’t fucking get rid of me, Derek Nurse, so you might as well stop fucking trying_.

It feels like hours before the tears stop falling, but Will holds him through it all. He holds firm, and Derek… he’s so fucking in love.

 


End file.
